


Something Hollow, Something Blue

by ArielleArcher



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Humor, Innuendo, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielleArcher/pseuds/ArielleArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that was how Inoue landed on the ridiculous notion that they needed his hollow's blessing. IchiHichiHime</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

No one cared about the small, lost figure on the platform. No one but him. No one else saw the tear-smudges on her forlorn face, the small white hands knitted tightly together under that tiny chin, her mouth downturned at the corners.

Only him.

Because she was what mattered most, and he was leaving her, not – as great writers and poets liked to theorize – for her own good, but for his. He left because the November wind, gusting through the scattered leaves and ruffling her bangs, made his chest ache and he despised the pain. He left, so that her eyes would stay his favorite shade of caramel-brown, like the sticky apple they had shared during the festival the night before.

Most of all, he left because he was selfish.

He was so selfish that if the train whistle hadn't shrieked in protest of his hesitant, half-step forward, he might have actually given in and taken her in his arms. Might have told her how he felt, might have apologized. Might have never let her go. And that, truly, would have been the ultimate mistake.

_Run, Inoue. Run far away._

_Be safe._


	2. Chapter 1

_2 weeks earlier_

* * *

Three months.

Seventy-eight days.

1872 hours.

112320 minutes.

The average lifespan of a _Tineola Bissolliella_ moth.

That was how long she had dated Ichigo-kun before he finally popped the question.

Sado-san had nodded knowingly when she told (squealed) the good news. Ishida-san patted her on the shoulder companionably and said that the Shinigami should've proposed sooner, considering he had been in love with her "for the past three years but kept his mouth shut about it, the idiot." Rukia-chan rolled her eyes in exasperation – Orihime got the distinct impression that she thought the proposal should have been much more impressive and involved some Chappy cosplay costumes.

All congratulations (and in quite a few cases, condolences) were directed to Orihime by proxy of Tatsuki-chan; whether that was because the brightly beaming karate-girl was taking full credit for the match, or because Ichigo growled whenever someone stepped forward to try and shake his fiancé's hand, Orihime wasn't quite sure.

Come to think of it, he growled when anyone looked at her… and his possessive streak seemed to have skyrocketed since he slid the diamond ring on her finger. She was pretty sure she had heard him muttering " _mine_ " under his breath when one of the male guests at their engagement party smiled at her a little too cheerily.

The wedding was tentatively planned for April. April, because it was Orihime's favorite month, and tentatively, because Ichigo-kun swore that the two of them would elope within the next two weeks if one more person winked at him and asked suggestively where the happy couple planned to go on their honeymoon. This was, in fact, rather amusing considering that the first and only input her future husband had given her for their wedding-planning notebook was a thin, rectangular flier for the Bahamas...and a deep, steamy ki–

Well. That was beside the point.

The point being that Ichigo-kun was looking forward to their married life just as much as she was; going window shopping on Saturday nights, making homemade banana-splits in _their own_ house, and putting together a time capsule of their first wedded year. Calling each other 'husband' and 'wife', and hopefully sometime in the future – Orihime couldn't help but giggle to herself – ' _otou_ -san' and ' _okaa_ -san'.

And she'd never have to spend another holiday alone. No more quiet Christmas mornings curled on her couch, watching re-runs of black-and-white movies about snow, and cheer, and family togetherness and ignoring the emptiness under her Christmas tree. No more solemn Thanksgivings spent kneeling at Sora's shrine, staring at the glass- encased picture until the colors swam wetly before her eyes.

Orihime, who had spent her life being the 'Happily' part of fairy-tales, would finally have her ending, her other half…her 'Ever After'.

Her _Ichigo_.


	3. Chapter 2

"Snapper, Sniper, Griever, Griper–"

" ** _Matron and Moron. Oh, and my total favorite: Mephistopheles!_** "

Ichigo ground his teeth together. Hard. "Go. Away. Now is not the time to bother me."

" ** _Ichigo, ol' buddy ol' pal… It's always time to bother you._** " His hollow swung a phantom arm around Ichigo's stiff shoulders companionably. " _ **In fact, one could say that the worst times are often the best times!**_ "

"One could say you're an asshole."

It simpered. " _ **Compliments, compliments**_."

Shaking his head, Ichigo returned his attention to the words scrawled messily across the paper. Maybe he'd be more inspired if he started re-reading from the beginning of what he'd written.

_'Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and kind princess named Orihime. She was perfect in every way, from her long auburn hair to the tips of her even longer legs–'_

Letting out a mad cackle of laughter, the hollow redirected Ichigo's vision to further down the paper and read aloud: "' ** _So lovely Princess Orihime went to stay with the short witch and her minions, who lived in a cottage in the woods. The minions were all girls, because the princess was so in love that she refused to even look at other boys, and that included the castle archer, Ishida. Their minion's names were Dashing, Dancing, Snapper, Sniper, Griever, Griper, and Gimli._** '" The hollow groaned, clutching its gut in mock agony. " _ **Man, what is this trash? '** Snow White and the Seven Clinically Psychotic Dwarves' **?"**_

"You're one to scoff at psychotic, bird-brain."

The hollow rolled yellow-on-black eyes. " _ **At least I'm not writing sappy stories from some dumb broad**_."

Ichigo felt his fingers curl into fists amidst the crumpled pages surrounding him like a sea of white foam. "She's not 'some dumb broad'," he ground out. "She's my fiancée, and I'm going to read this to her on our wedding night."

" _ **Right. Have fun with that. Go ahead and read the princess a bedtime story when the two of you could be fu–**_ "

"Shut _up_!" Ichigo buried his face in his hands, trying to banish all the mouthwatering images his hollow had stirred to life. Bare, mile-long legs, silky as they caressed his skin… Plump lips… Warm, heavy-lidded eyes watching his every move as he _slowly_ –

The hollow smacked his lips. " ** _Oh, yeah. Best show I've had in weeks._** "

With a feral hiss, Ichigo slammed his thoughts shut and imagined a thick, brick wall. Imagined slamming the hollow's bony white skull against it.

" _ **Flattering**_ ," the hollow said, blasé. " _ **Unfortunately I've got places to go, people to see. No need to get down-and-dirty this time.**_ "

The hollow was leaving without a fight? Instantly suspicious, Ichigo let the mental wall dissolve, probing for any thoughts that weren't his own. What was the damn voice in his head up to now?

" _ **Nefarious plots**_ ," it giggled. And just like that–

His hollow was gone.


	4. Chapter 3

It had become tragically apparent in the past forty-eight hours just how few Shinigami in Soul Society truly supported Orihime and Ichigo-kun's upcoming nuptials. Despite the many congratulatory hugs and handshakes offered as she passed through the halls, despite Rangiku-san's drunken and vastly inappropriate bachelorette party suggestions (followed swiftly by a smack upside the head courtesy of Hitsugaya-kun), and despite the offer to use the war council table for the wedding reception, Orihime suspected a secret conspiracy of sorts had been formed against her and Ichi-kun.

And, unlike past Seireitei conspiracies, everyone was being so covert about it that she could find no real evidence to support their traitorous activities! The only reason she even suspected the existence of such a dreadful organization was the fact that there just had to be maleficent minds behind the setback of flawless wedding plan Zebra-Alpha-Charlie-Fettuccini-Waterbuffalo, also known as Operation: Hell Butterfly – For no other reason than that could her brilliance possibly fail to catch on.

Byakuya-san hadn't even taken a day to think it over before he'd refused and that, more than anything else, convinced Orihime that Soul Society's version of Big Brother was thwarting her… lead by Rukia-chan's Big Brother, of all people! Oh, yes. There were plots. Maybe lots of plots. Maybe thousands, involving little blue aliens that tickled unsuspecting brides-to-be. And they had possessed Byakuya-san, and that was why he refused her genius plan for releasing hundreds of Hell Butterflies during the wedding ceremony!

No amount of pleasing, cajoling, or even threatening (which had taken a healthy dose of courage and several _un_ healthy doses of espresso) would change his mind. She didn't give up, though; this was for Ichi-kun, after all. He deserved the very best that her imagination could conjure. And boy, could she conjure! The honeymoon would involve a midnight ride on an enchanted purple dragon all the way to South America, and then they would be eating anchovies in Antarctica, and then, and then –

Well, just because Big Brother shut down one idea didn't mean she hadn't stashed another five notebooks-full underneath her bedroom mattress. She would show them plots. She'd show that she could scheme with the best of them. Byakuya-san might hold the butterflies' hostage for now, but she was Super Hime: Rescuer of the Distressed, and she was resolved have the wedding of the century and to leave no insect left behind.

_Yosh!_


	5. Chapter 4

A vicious squealing of breaks cut through the thin apartment walls. Blinking against the folds of the bandana that bound her eyes, Orihime cringed. "Er, Rangiku-san, I'm not sure this is such a good idea–"

Outside, several car doors slammed. Boots thumped militarily against wood, moving closer. Nearby, a dog began barking wildly. Her heart felt like it was following the same rapid pace.

"–I mean, Ichi-kun would really disapprove, and–"

_Ding-dong._

From the protesting groan of the springs, Rangiku must have literally leapt up from the sofa. Orihime wondered if Tatsuki-chan had jabbed her with a cattle prod; since her best friend wasn't any more thrilled than she was about Rangiku-san's cryptic "bachelorette-party surprise", Orihime wouldn't put the possibility of physical violence past her.

"–And Tatsuki-chan isn't happy about this–"

Rangiku-san was already at the door, giggling. The childlike noise was strangely sinister, and a bullet of foreboding shot down Orihime's spine. "They're here," she sang. "Hime-chan's going to become a _woman_ …"

"What? N-no, I – No!"

But it was too late. Rangiku was already ushering the guests in and Orihime could almost feel the force of her Cheshire grin. "Come in, come in," she said gaily. "We're so happy to have you here tonight."

Tatsuki-chan made a strangled sound. Dazed, desperate to understand, Orihime reached out blindly until she touched a female wrist. "What's going on?"

"Strippers," said Tatsuki incredulously. "She hired us male _strippers_." Then, before Orihime had quite finished her squeak of shock, someone yanked on her wrist so hard that she lost her balance and stumbled. A small, calloused hand was promptly slapped over her eyes. Orihime made another noise of surprise

"Er…Tatsuki-chan? What are you doing?"

"Protecting your innocence," Tatsuki said vehemently. "Ichigo may be the dumbest idiot on this planet, but he's been a good friend to me. I owe him this much."

From somewhere in front of them came the roar of male laughter, and Orihime jerked in reaction. This "surprise" was utterly beyond her scope of experience in dealing with; it would be unbearably rude to chase the guests out of her home and throw a well-meaning gift back in the Gotei 13 captain's face, but on the other hand, she had no desire to do anything with these – and she had trouble even thinking the word without blushing – strippers.

_Why, oh why, did I let Rangiku-san convince me to have a bachelorette party?_

There was the sound of footfalls on carpet. Shocking in its intrusiveness, a warm, rough hand stroked up her bare arm… followed the next instant by a slap and growl from Tatsuki-chan. Close enough to her nose that she could smell his minty breath, a deep voice murmured, "So, this is the lucky lady?"

Orihime froze, her chest moving in short, frantic spurts. Her lashes ticked the bandana and she wanted to rip it off, but then she started to wonder if maybe, by concentrating hard enough, she could dematerialize like the aliens from that old science-fiction show, Star Trek! _'Beam me up, Scotty'. Please, please make me disappear._

"I'm expecting _you_ to be the ones to make her lucky," Rangiku said with a throaty laugh. "You'll do your best, won't you, boys?"

The hot, roaming hand was back, moving northwest and into uncharted territory. "It would be my genuine pleasure. But first -"

With no further warning, Tatsuki's hand, still clutching the bandana, was ripped from her eyes as the karate champion gave a feral cry. The scene flooded Orihime's vision, now unencumbered: three large males in police uniform and holstered guns crowded into her tiny living-room, two of the "officers" occupied with a hissing and snapping Tatsuki-chan. The third man – He of the Roaming Hand-san – was still groping her.

This... this was not good. This was beyond not good. The situation had progressed from 'Tropical Storm' to 'Category 5 Hurricane' so fast that her brain-cells were spinning, and Orihime didn't need a weather man to point out that fast-approaching feter bands could do serious Cop-san with the roaming hand and Forget-Me-Not blue eyes was prattling on about "no touch zones" and kissing and a hot seat (was he planning on burning her?) but she deliberately tuned him out, focusing instead on sending a meaningful glance to Tatsuki-chan.

_They may take out rights, our lands, and our virginity, but they can never touch our freedom!_

Or something like that.

Unfortunately, her noble efforts were wasted. Tatsuki was in the midst of enacting a freedom plan of her own; at least, Orihime _hoped_ that she was enacting a freedom plan and not simply fighting a path to her purse because she wanted to rub on a more attractive shade of lipstick. As far as Orihime knew, Tatsuki-chan didn't even _wear_ lipstick.

Which meant that there had to be some part of this insanely clever plan that Orihime just wasn't understanding, like that she had two jet packs stuffed inside that itty-bitty messenger bag for desperate times such as these.

...Or not.

Because what came out of Tatsuki's bag was an object that Orihime recognized only vaguely due to her limited experience with it – not a canister of bear spray, or a sparkly pink push-dagger, or even a genie lamp... Orihime owned all of those items and more, and was well-acquainted with how to use them.

No, the object Tatsuki-chan's hand emerged with was far more mysterious in nature: a cell phone.

Tatsuki was frantically pressing the buttons, misdialing, lashing out with a delicate foot whenever her guarding officers got too close. Her teeth were barred in a primal expression that had Orihime's heart lurching into an answering wild rhythm; the sight was magnificent, awe-inspiring... And a bit arousing, judging by the two stripper's reactions.

Orihime reddened and turned her head, extremely uncomfortable with watching her best friend provoke such an intimate emotion. No matter how tonight ended, she suspected Tatsuki-chan would be going home with two new contact numbers programmed into her phone.

A phone which, as Orihime looked back, was pressed against her shoulder as she shouted something savage and incoherent into it. Orihime wondered who she was yelling at and what she was saying, but just then her attention was diverted. Creepy Cop-san had slid his hand below her left breast!

 _Ichi-kun's_ breasts.

The breasts she was saving for her and Ichi-kun's Night of Blissful and Magical Consummated Passion.

High-pitched buzzing filled her ears, loud and angry. The war cries of a thousand bloodthirsty bees. As if in response to her distress, her hairpins tingled, and for her ears only came a chorus of outraged squeaking:

_"Santen Kesshun, Hime-chan! Please? We can protect you..."_

_"Aw, none of that pansy-ass shield stuff. Let me Koten Zanshun that yellow-bellied son-of-a –"_

_"No! No killing. All we need to do is get rid of him."_

Orihime clutched her head, disoriented. "Lily-san? Baigon-san? Tsubaki-san?"

_"Yes, Hime-chan, we're here. Command us!"_

She bit her, considering her options. No killing, no maiming, that her rule. Creepy Cop-san raised an eyebrow but she ignored him. "Um, can you...No, never mind, that's too unkind. Uh, let me see – Oh!"

His. Hand. Was. On. Her. Breast.

Any reservations towards using her powers on a helpless human vanished. Rage, or something close to it, boiled in her veins. _Mama bear, protect your cubs!_ She opened her mouth to Koten Zanshun the ever-loving hibiscus out of Creepy Cop (who certainly didn't deserve an honorific!), but then there was a hand in her hair, tugging.

Wisps of bangs floated into her eyes, and tickled her nose. She sneezed.

"Ah-ah," Rangiku-san _tsk_ ed. Bits of cerulean sparkled between the tips of her fingers. "Bad Orihime-chan, trying to play the party-pooper."

No! Horror clutched at her. "But I don't –"

"Nau-ghty, nau-ghty Hime-chan...You need to be _punished_." She cast a sly smile at Creepy Cop, and the answering smirk that spread over his face put onto display a set of eerily white teeth.

"Punishment, hm? That can be arranged."

"Wait, please, I –"

Creepy Cop caressed her lips tenderly. " _Sh_ -h, no more words, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

She nipped his fingers, but that only seemed to encourage him. When balking in his arms got her nowhere, Orihime threw a betrayed glare at Rangiku-san. The woman only offered her a blithe wink.

"Trust me, Hime-chan. You're about to have a night you'll never forget."

_Never forget? I already want to forget! Ichi-kun will be so disappointed, and Tatsuki-chan will be upset, and my first time was supposed to be with –_

Creepy Cop reached into his coat and pulled out fur-lined handcuffs. And a silk scarf. Orihime whimpered.

"Hands against the wall, ma'am," her officer drawled, "And spread those pretty legs."

_**"No one plays those games with Princess but me."** _

Reiatsu flooded her senses. Like a spring downpour at noon, the dark energy drenched her, extinguishing her panic. Lured her into a drugging lethargy. The feeling was calming, oddly ...soothing.

Creepy Cop's grip on her elbows slackened. "Who's there?"

An echo of chilling laughter – _**"Why, the bridegroom, of course!"**_

"Yeah? Well, you're not wanted."

Tatsuki gave a hoarse, muffled shout, and Orihime catapulted into a memory.

During their senior-year break, Rukia-chan had forced her to sit down and watch the biggest horror movie of that summer: _Revenge of the Flesh-Devouring, Cheer-Leader-Eating Zombies_. Rated _R_. For weeks afterward, the girls had been masses of exhilarated, terrified energy; responding to hollow attacks alone had been awful.

Even the recollection of seeing an undead football quarterback haunt his girlfriend's yacht and slaughter the entire cheer-leading team, however, couldn't quite compare to the current adrenaline rush of having a soulless monster crash her bachelorette party. Of knowing that not-Ichi-kun was stalking through the shadowy doorway of her apartment, avoiding the glow of her lamps. No, she corrected herself, that was Ichi-kun, even if his fact lacked his usual warm scowl and that sweet, unavoidable crinkle between his eyes.

And sometimes, for a moment, she could pretend.

But the problem was, her husband-to-be didn't walk like he was expected the sun to fall down at feet and grovel. He didn't grin with the self-assured menace of a killer who had no enemies because he'd gutted them all... and bathed in their blood. Kurosaki Ichigo was a noble warrior and this creature, this _other_ that inhabited his body, was something else entirely. A mad nightmare made of malice and bone.

And it was _pissed_.

Creepy Cop was either too blind or wired to notice. He sneered and settled a proprietary hand around the back of Orihime neck, his fingers tightening when she would have shrunk away. The hollow's eyes didn't miss her tiny grimace.

**_"Ain't nice to break toys that aren't yours."_ **

Unaware of the danger, Creepy Cop snorted. "Dude, seriously? Jealous much? Why don't you go take a little trip to the bathroom and have some alone-time while I give your future bride the gift she won't be getting on her wedding night."

Orihime gasped. Saw, as if in slow-motion, Ichi-kun's body rear back at the challenge. Thoughts flashed through its eyes, lightening-fast, the expressions so wrong in Ichi-kun's face: disbelief – _had that puny human just mocked it_? Annoyance – _where was the respect it deserved_? And last, the overwhelming, savage joy of a predator scenting its prey. Ichi-kun's muscles twisted into a slow, terrifying smile.

The hollow stalked further into the room, radiating waves of noxious reiatsu. One hand formed a fist and met the other in a deliberately noisy cracking of joints. It was telegraphing the ominous intent of a unicorn about to stab a wicked, marauding Black Knight through the heart – a Black Knight who drowned helpless kittens and had to be destroyed – and Orihime fought a welling of fear… Not for herself, but for Creepy Cop.

" _ **Princess**_ ," it purred. " ** _You might wanna shut your eyes_**."

…

She didn't peek while the hollow let loose its wrath. There were some sights a girl just didn't need to see, in the same way that there were some times a girl could just sit by and let her honor be defended. The aftermath, though…

The room was in shambles. Pillows, sofa cushions, and belt buckles strewn across the floor in a macabre body count. Orihime counted herself lucky that she didn't have to call the real police with an anonymous murder-tip and decided she wouldn't bother to ask what could make human males screech at that contralto pitch. (Even now she could recall the feeble groans from the bruised masses that had crawled out her door. Not pretty.)

Besides, she missed her chance; when a hand brushed the hair from her forehead and murmured her name, it was Ichi-kun greeting her, not the hollow. It had retreated, saving her the mental agony of wondering if she should thank it. Thoughtful or thoughtless, she couldn't quite settle.

Tatsuki-chan was gone, dragged away by very satisfied Rangiku-san. The woman had been cooing about "Interesting developments" and how Soul Society would be "very pleased at the way things turned out". Orihime guessed that this was all part of the Seireitei Conspiracy. Well, she'd be ready for their next attack, yes she would! They wouldn't catch her off-guard again.

Her stomach growled loudly. _Sustenance, Hime-chan, give me sustenance_! She invited Ichi-kun to stay and eat spinach rolls with apricot jelly and, perhaps sensing that she needed company, he agreed. They were halfway into the well-lit kitchen when she realized –

"U-um, Ichi-kun? Is that a… _thong_ wrapped around your head?"

He hastily ripped the offending item away and cast it somewhere into the living-room, red flaring in his cheeks. "Bachelor parties aren't too much fun, either. Hand me the jelly spoon."


End file.
